Emily and Brother
by Kachinko
Summary: A fanfic about Emily, and her brother Brother. Set pre-PLAGUE, because I haven't read it yet, but I will soon so I'll call this AU. I don't exactly know where this is going yet, but I'm going to have fun with it. T for safety.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: So Chapter One of my Emily fic. She's one of my favorite characters, and I decided I might as well write her a fanfic. Don't know where it's going, might end up with an OC, might not. Also, I don't think it ever clearly states Emily's age in the books, so I have her at fourteen about five months away from poofing and Brother at nine. **

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><p>"Emilyyyyyyy," Brother whines, his voice high and reedy. "They're commmminggg!"<p>

I knew that already, but Brother's…well, Brother. He forgets stuff. "Yeah, okay," I say, grabbing the gun. A big, clunky handgun. I don't know what kind it is, but it's more gray than black. And heavy, heavier than the shotgun was. I haven't practiced with this one; I don't think I can even hit anything. But that doesn't matter. I don't need a gun to kill those losers that call themselves the Human Crew.

For a moment, the word "kill" lies heavy in my stomach. But I have to. They want me dead. I'm a freak, after all. I have powers. And they'll kill Brother, too.

I can't let that happen. Brother comes first. So they have to go. I put the handgun down on the kitchen counter, close my eyes, and lay my palms against the wall.

Breathe in. Breathe out. _Pull._

I feel the slight increase/decrease of pressure that means the house has moved and open my eyes. I count to thirty, then move the house back.

I see them, coming up the packed-dirt driveway, and pick up the gun. Clench my fingers. Increase/decrease, and I'm behind them.

"Hey," I say, voice low. "You guys want your stuff?" Polite. Quiet. Like nothing's wrong. Like I don't know what they're really here to do.

"Yeah, sort of," says Lance, an odd sort of half-smile on his face. Lance is the only dangerous one, really, and I don't like that smile. I take a step back, and one of the goons—I don't know who, haven't bothered to know any except Lance and Zil—chuckles unpleasantly. I raise my gun.

Lance raises his, and _he_ knows what he's doing.

He fires.

I dodge, but I'm nowhere near fast enough, and my shoulder explodes in pain.

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><p><strong>Please review. Suggestions are welcome, flames will be used to roast marshmallows. Also, please tell me if I have Emily out of character. I hope I wrote her well.<strong>


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2 is up. I apologize for the multiple whosiwhatsits, there was a bit of a screw-up. I'm thinking maybe I ought to bring Penny in, though first I have to think of a way to get her to show up without having to resort to a Deus Ex Machina. Also, man, that's short. Anyways, enjoy, and reviews are appreciated =P**

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><p>CHAPTER TWO:<p>

It hurts so badly, but even so, it takes me a moment to register: _that jerkwad just shot me in the shoulder._

I double over, clutching at the bullet wound, trying to stop it from bleeding. I can hear them laughing, barely hear another click, no no no—

I drop my gun. The safety's off; it discharges into the bushes. They start, giving me just enough of an edge. Increase/decrease, and I'm back in the house.

There's Brother, looking horrified. "Emily!" he says. "Emily, Emily, Emily…" I know he's scared, and I also know at this point all he's going to be good for is repeating my name. For a good long while, no less.

"I'm fine," I croak. "Totally fine." The bullet is hurting, really hurting, and my hand is slippery and red. I know I should get the bullet out and get the house away and I'm not sure if I can do first.

House first. Get Brother away, make sure he's safe, then I take care of myself.

I'm kneeling on the kitchen floor as it is, so I lay my free hand against it. Increase/decrease, and there's a rushing roaring in my ears and the view outside the window is different.

"Don't go outside," I order Brother, and then I concentrate. Usually I can't move things that are so small, but it's inside me. Covered in my blood. It's _mine._ Increase/decrease and the bloody, crumpled slug is lying on the floor in front of me. My head's spinning, the rushing-roaring grows louder, and then everything goes black.


	3. Chapter 3

**So here it is finally! Sorry for the wait, Screnzy ate my soul. Also, how'd I do with Lana?**

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><p>I wake up flat on my back in my bed. My shoulder's achy and covered in crusty, dried blood, but it's otherwise perfectly smooth. I touch it, running my fingers over the perfectly healed skin.<p>

"Feeling better?" someone asks.

There's a girl sitting in the corner of the room, reading one of Mom's old Harlequin romances. A filthy girl, in ragged clothes, who'd look like she'd been through the wars if there was a mark on her.

"Yeah," I say, sitting up. "Thanks. Who're you?"  
>"Lana," says the girl, closing the book and setting down on a table. "Some kids call me the Healer."<p>

"Guess I don't need to ask why."

"Guess you don't."

There's an awkward silence for a few minutes, and then she gets up. "Well, thanks for feeding me. And almost squashing my dog."

"Huh?"

"When you did your Dorothy shtick you almost landed on Patrick."

"Oh," I say. "Sorry."

"Nah, he was fine. Your brother seems to like him. There something wrong with him?"  
>"Brother?" I say, swinging my legs out of bed. "Yeah, probably. Never went to a psychologist or anything, though, so I don't know what." She nods, and pulls a pack of cigarettes out her pocket. She lights it up and takes a deep drag.<p>

"Want one?" asks Lana, seeing me looking. I shake my head, trying not to breathe in the acrid smoke. She shrugs.

Lana leaves us fairly soon. The only reason she followed Brother, she tells me, was that he wouldn't shut up and she was tired. I feel kind of bad, watching her and her dog wander off into the desert alone, but she said she can take care of herself. And what with that great big gun at her side, I believe her.

It's a couple of days before I'm strong enough to move the house again, and by then Brother's got some kind of nasty green scab on his arm. I guess he's lucky, though, he says the scab's from a snake. There are some pretty mean rattlers out in the desert; he could have gotten a nasty bite. And I don't think we'll ever see Lana again, so he'd have been dead.

I sleep for three hours after I move the house back—guess I'm not as up-to-scratch as I thought—and when I wake up Brother has some bad news for me.

Our well is ruined. Those Human Crew bastards _fouled our well._ The water is brown and nasty, and there are _things_ floating in it.

Neither of us wants to move the house again, though—certainly not back to the place in the desert. So instead I bounce over to Lake Evian with a bucket twice a day. It's not good, but it's enough for now.

And then one night Brother wakes me. He's shaking my shoulder, terrified, and saying my name over and over again. I roll of bed, suddenly, horribly awake—what's happened, to scare him like this?  
>He points at his leg, still repeating my name, and I see.<p>

There are mouthparts, like a wasp's or an ant's, that've torn through his pants. They're gnashing and sharp and they're eating through his flesh.

"No…" I breathe.


End file.
